The Worst Part Of Goodbye
by Ruby Casablanca
Summary: Everyone he had ever travelled with had told him exactly the same thing, but coming from Amelia Pond, it seemed just a little more important, a little more real. But not now. Maybe in a little while. Now, there was something he had to do. There was someone he needed to talk to.


A/N: And I am dying just a little bit as I write this. I have some seriously bad Post-TATM feels. I hope I am not alone.

All rights go to Steven Moffat and the BBC, even though I want to rip them out of their hands because obviously they cannot be trusted with our feelings.

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The Worst Part Of Goodbye

He doesn't know if he can move; he doesn't know if he wants to.

Moving is just too painful.

Everything hurts. His body, his hearts, his soul all scream at him, severely rejecting the tumultuous emotion that rages through him. He isn't used to this kind of grief, not in this body at least. He never thought it would happen, not like this, not this early.

He doesn't know he's being ripped off of the headstone before it's too late. He fights with the strong woman who's holding him, dragging him away, until it's no use. The TARDIS doors lock behind them, and she, determined as ever, has already started the dematerialization process. All he can do is sit on the stairs of his ship as she makes him leave his two best friends behind, buried in the ground, alone.

There's silence for a good long while as he remains in his catatonic state, simply staring at the ground, his mind lost in the past. He runs his fingers over the crumpled sheet of paper, the final page, his last account of his dear Amelia Pond. He's read it nearly a hundred times, memorized every word, space, and letter, but it doesn't make him feel any better. If anything, he feels worse.

They loved him, but what about those who loved them? Their friends and family? How could he tell them that they were never coming home again?

That thought, that terrible, horrible thought had already crossed his mind, and all it felt like was a punch to the gut. He had already promised them that he would keep them safe, that it would never _ever_ be them that died, but he had lied. He shouldn't have promised anything. Now he looked like a liar, a man who killed two good, innocent people. But it had to be him who told them. He owed them all that much.

Oh, their reactions would kill him, and he thought that he would never be able to face the Ponds or the Williams' again. He could never face anyone in Leadworth again, not after they knew of what befell of the dear Ponds. All of their loved ones would hate him, all save one…

River had been working on the TARDIS since she dragged him aboard for the second time, and a deep shame fell over the Doctor. He had exploded and threw a fit like a toddler over his friends, not caring about who they were to her. River had just lost her parents, and now she was stuck dealing with him. What had she called him? A god who insisted on acting like a twelve year old? Perhaps that was more accurate than he supposed.

And just as soon as she is there, she is gone, vanished into thin air. She has places to be, teaching to do, and she has no time to stay forever. She told him to listen to her mother, pointing to the afterword. Perhaps he would listen to her.

Don't travel alone. Both had said that. But how could he when his hearts were shattered into pieces? How could he let someone new in when the one person whom he had been running to, the first face this face saw, wasn't around to run to anymore? It was the worst kind of loneliness.

But he had to. He knew that now; he had seen how far he could fall on his own. He knew his humanity was needed. Everyone he had ever travelled with had told him exactly the same thing, but coming from Amelia Pond, it seemed just a little more important, a little more real.

But not now. Maybe in a little while. Now, there was something he had to do. There was someone he needed to talk to.

So, getting up for the first time in what felt like forever, he reached for the phone. Slowly, painfully dialing, he punched in all the numbers, his fingers fighting him every step of the way. How was he doing this? How could he easily hurt someone he cared about? But he had to. He owed this man that much. So, he let it ring, each one long and loud as a train whistle, until the other end picked up, unknowingly happy and jovial with the innocence of a child.

His voice failed him, his throat thick, and he nearly fell over in grief. He couldn't do this. Please, he thought, don't make me do this. But he had no choice. He had made all the promises; he had broken them all. He owed this wonderful, trusting man the truth.

The heartbreak came before the first word was even uttered.

"_Hello, Brian. It's the Doctor. There's something I…need to tell you…"_


End file.
